


The Goblin and the Priest

by rare_colours



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: M/M, mention of Norman Osborn/random blond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:13:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rare_colours/pseuds/rare_colours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for a prompt on gayreign:</p>
<p>"Let's say that Normie finds out about Coulmier's big ol' crush somehow and keeps goading him into, I dunno, acting or it, or doing SOMETHING, but Coulmier's self-control is AMAZING (I mean, hello, priest) although he openly and calmly admits his deep deep attraction/love to Norman Osborn."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Goblin and the Priest

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during the Osborn (2011) series, on The Raft.

They’ve left the area of their special holding cells and they are slowly moving forward. The place is a maze. The sound of their feet slapping bare, hard, unforgiving metal echoes off the metallic walls, feeding itself and growing until they sound like an army marching. A deaf man would hear them coming.

However, Norman isn’t worried. They have already taken care of the occasional stray guard, and those were nothing but cowards. The remaining guards they’ve spotted were whining in terror, scurrying behind halfway open doors, trying to defend themselves, blindly shooting at the escaped convicts. Worthless, the lot of them. It was a minor annoyance only, an annoyance Norman would try to lure out with fake civility and promises of safe passage to no success. The guards are too terrified of them, so usually the most impatient one out of their deadly group gets close enough to put the guard out of their misery. Usually, it is Ai Apaec, who seems to enjoy murdering their guards in every possible and increasingly creative, gory ways.

They can see that they are walking in an area where the guards’ living quarters are. Norman spies a TV and a couch through one of the open doors. He imagines he can even smell food. That means restrooms must be close by as well. They need food, water and a toilet break. Who knows what they will encounter further on? He can barely contain his glee.

The woman is whining that her hair is full of cloying blood and it _stinks_ , so Norman gives in. They obviously need a break. Norman tells them to meet back there in twenty to thirty minutes, enough to wash up and find food. He’s not sure about Ai Apaec, but he doesn’t like spiders much in general. Gods even less.

Norman looks for the restrooms and finds it easily. It’s big with blinking, dim fluorescent lights and shiny metallic surfaces, housing not only toilet stalls but shower cubes as well… obviously. It looks decidedly better than the ones _they_ had to use. He entertains the idea of a quick shower. The ventilation system has been down for a while now, the sweat running down his back pasting the ugly orange of his uniform to his body feels far from enjoyable. As Cashman and the Priest walk in behind him, he rejects the idea. Cashman disgusts him. Once they are out he might kill him, if he can find a way to do it without touching the man. That maggot makes his skin crawl with his puny body and sickening, slimy half-smile.

Norman takes the stall closest to the door, locks it, and goes about his business. He keeps listening to the others. One of them flushes and leaves without washing his hands. His lips curl with distaste. He is sure it wasn’t the Priest. The Goblin is a silent presence. Norman wonders if it will ever talk to him again.

He flushes too and leaves the stall cautiously, ready for an ambush that doesn’t come. He’s done with washing his hands and is in the process of wiping down his face and neck with some wet paper towels when the Priest exits the stall, cautious and careful, his frail frame sprung tight. Norman coolly puts his glasses back on. He had placed them carefully next to the sink when he was certain that Cashman had left. The Priest looks at him, his eyes jerking away to fix on the sink next to Norman’s. He walks there slowly, eyes trained on the metallic sink, and leans over it to wash his hands.

Norman observes the way the man’s skin glistens with sweat, his neck mottled with dust and blood, droplets of sweat making tracks in the mess. The man is wearing twice as many clothes as Norman does and the older man wonders if the Priest would ever take off his heavy black shirt. But so far he didn’t. Instead, he reaches for a wad of paper towels, wets them under the flow of cold water and begins to meticulously scrub every inch of visible flesh of his neck relatively clean.

Norman’s eyes wander in boredom until he sees a flash of colour from the corner of his eye… The Priest has a tattoo. _Fancy that, the Priest has a tattoo. Don’t you wonder what it is?_ And Norman does.

He steps close to the Priest who turns his head to regard him with eyebrows raised. His face is blank again aside from the mild questioning look. He doesn’t show fear easily and Norman wonders if he ever would to him, after all he is this man’s messiah. Norman doesn’t care to speak. Instead he hooks his index finger under the Priest’s collar at the nape of his neck and drags it down to reveal…

_Well well well._

The Goblin is laughing. Norman just regards the tattoo mutely for a few seconds. A man of faith, the younger man had said. The Priest obviously had faith in Norman.

“Care to explain that, Father?”

Norman stays close to the man, close enough to smell him. He can smell soap, the slight scent of detergent wafting from the heavy black shirt and the sweat running down the man’s neck anew.

“There is nothing to explain,” the Priest says in his calm manner, his head turning to regard the older man with a calm gaze. “I told you I was a man of faith.”

Norman isn’t quite sure what the young man means. _He bears your mark, what do you think? He has branded himself yours. What else is there to be said?_ The Goblin is whispering sweet things into his ear again. Oh yes, how he had missed the Goblin. And yes, how he had missed unwavering devotion. Slowly, he drags the pad of his thumb down the enticing tattoo, the skin wet and slippery with fresh sweat.

He leans close to the younger man, who doesn’t even flinch when he passes his face in favour for his ear. Norman makes sure that his lips graze the shell of the Priest’s ear as he whispers. “And what does your faith say, Father?”

The Priest shivers delicately at his words, the older man can feel the fine tremors in the willowy body. Norman thinks of the last time he had any physical contact of that kind. He wasn’t allowed near any inmates, not that he had a taste for hairy men, no. The last person he had was a tall blond, stupid but oh so pretty and she wanted very, very much to sleep with the director of H.A.M.M.E.R. He pressed her into his desk, spreading milky white legs, taking what she offered. Twice. It was good, but it was a long time ago. And this tall, delicate-boned young man with his soft skin, full lips and elegant hands was definitely no hairy inmate. Not that Norman’s control isn’t strong enough to withstand years without sexual contact, but if the opportunity presents itself he wouldn’t say no to some… devotion. Or worship, as it may be.

“My faith says your presence will bring about a better world,” the Priest chides softly. His expression is schooled into an appropriate, slightly suffering look like the face of the suffering Jesus on the cross.

Norman just rubs patterns on the tattooed skin of the Priest’s nape, enjoying the sound of the young man’s breath hitching in surprise. He leans forward to whisper into the man’s ear again. “You said I was your messiah, did you not, Father?”

“And I said roughly, yes,” the Priest sounds ever so slightly annoyed. “Yes, I guess you are.”

Norman chuckles, the soft puffs of air making the Priest shiver. The younger man is sweating heavily now, so Norman keeps rubbing the tattoo, drawing nonsensical patterns on the sensitive skin. He can see those long, delicate fingers dancing on the metallic rim of the sink, clenching and unclenching spasmodically. The younger man’s breaths are coming in quick gasps. Any minute now he would be kneeling at Norman’s feet, sucking him off.

“Somehow I feel you’re not telling me everything, Father,” Norman almost sing-songs and grins as he hears the way the Priest’s breath catches in his throat. Any minute now. “Come now, Priest, admit it. You don’t tremble from a single touch from me because I’m your messiah. Devotion only goes so far.”

But the damned Priest only pants, and whimpers as Norman grabs a handful of silky, wet black hair at the nape of his neck and jerks it back. The black strands curl against his hand and Norman has to appreciate the white, probably painful arch of the younger man’s neck. He dips in and licks the artery, he can almost feel the blood pounding so very quickly. “Admit it,” he snaps right into the Priest’s ear.

“I saw the Goblin once,” the Priest’s voice is soft, Norman has to strain to hear it over the pants echoing in the metallic room. “You were so beautiful. Primal. A force of nature. You were captivating. You need to be free, nobody can control you.”

The Goblin cackles up, or maybe it’s just the loud pounding of blood in Norman's ears. He feels almost like he is in awe. There are even men, who fall for him.

"Why, Father, it sounds like you're enamored with me," Norman cajoles. He doesn't want to mock the Priest, not until the younger man had sucked him off, at least. But Norman has a feeling the man would let him get away with anything. And Norman swears that later he will find the man's limits. Oh, he will, enjoying every single minute of it. But first, to finally ease the ache. So he nips at that white skin and tugs sharply at the hair he is still holding in a death grip. "The truth, Father."

There is a sort rasp of breath, a trembling that ends up with a twist of that long, white neck and the softly spoken words of admission, "Yes. I am."

And Norman just can't be patient anymore.

“Then I think it’s time you worshipped your messiah, Father,” Norman suggests kindly, applying gentle pressure at the back of the Priest’s neck, trying to push him to his knees.

Except the next second the Priest is out of his grasp with a quick twist he can barely follow. Norman blinks, hating the way his glasses fog up. He hates his glasses, period. He almost pulls them off and smashes them against the tiled wall, but he reins his anger in. The Priest must be skittish, also probably shy. Even though putting that much effort into getting his dick sucked irks him, he has no other options. He stares at the younger man with intense green eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr Osborn, but I am not here for that,” the man says again in that cool, slightly unctuous way of his, although its effect is lost. The Priest’s voice sounds husky and out of breath, his cheeks flushed pink.

The Goblin scoffs. _Oh of course he is here for that. He is here for you! Nothing is more important for these people than your well-being. You’ve heard you are their messiah. Ask again or take him, he is marked as yours!_ And Norman has to agree. The man bears his mark, he branded himself as Norman’s. But he’ll be damned if he has to beg the younger man. Norman Osborn does not beg, He takes what’s his and make no mistake, he will take it, but he never begs. With this priest he will wait until he is offered. And there's no question that the Priest will make that offer.

Norman takes off his glasses and wipes them with his shirt. He puts them back on. There, he is calm, he is collected and he is in control. He stares at the young man until he drops his gaze, acknowledging Norman as the one in charge. Good. He takes a step, and when the Priest does not back away, he takes another and another, until they are so close he can smell the scent of the man’s shampoo.

“Now then,” Norman says softly, “I believe we have a misunderstanding.”

The Priest is silent now, his gaze fixed on some point on the wall behind Norman. His breathing is slowly picking up again, the flush of pink in his cheeks still strong. His body is very obviously rigid with tension, tight and coiled, ready to flee at any second.

So Norman reaches out and grabs his shoulder, his index and middle fingers deftly snaking under the collar of his shirt, rubbing heated, sweaty skin. The Priest twitches as if about to jump or twist away, but Norman pulls him close with an iron grip on that bony shoulder, grasping hard at the muscle until it almost hurts. He presses a dry, closed-mouthed kiss to the younger man’s temple and licks a wet trail down the shell of his ear. “If your messiah asks you to kneel and sate his need, won’t you hasten to his aid, Father?” he asks, his voice nothing but a needful rasp. The way the Priest trembles against him, the smell of his sweat, the show of his complete obedience does to Norman what any pretty piece of blond woman would do and fuck, but he is so hard!

The Priest whimpers, but there it is, the breathy, barely-heard “…yes”. And the Goblin roars.

Norman shifts against the younger man, intending to crowd him into the wall, but the Priest refuses to move and Norman’s thigh ends up rubbing against the Priest. And he finds that the Priest is just as hard as he is. The choked gasp and the way the Priest trembles against him just so ignites something deep in him. If he can get the man down on his knees and his cock in the pretty little mouth it’s not quick enough. Once again, his fingers start up a slow rub against his mark on the Priest’s nape and he pulls back just enough to look the younger man in the eyes.

The Priest’s eyes are glazed over, his lips parted, white teeth glinting in the fluorescent lights, his lips looking wet and inviting to Norman. The Priest shivers at the loss of contact and twitches forward against Norman’s wiry frame. But the second passes and his eyes clear and he stays put. Norman feels like cursing - again. His dick isn’t going to suck itself.

_Fuck finesse, just push him on his knees!_ Norman’s feelings exactly. If he’s not offered he is going to take it anyway.

Once again, Norman seizes the Priest’s shoulder hard and begins pushing him down with enough force to send him sprawling. And this is when Cashman sticks his slimy head in to ask Norman if they’re gonna be much longer, because everybody else is already back.

Fuck. Norman is hard, the Priest twists away as soon as the fingers on his shoulder go lax and smooths his fingers down his black shirt. He looks prim and proper and only slightly flushed. He is already walking to the door Cashman had vacated, but stops to look back at Norman.

“Are you coming, Mr Osborn?”

_Not anytime soon!_ The Goblin is cackling.

So prim and polite, like nothing had happened. Norman feels like dragging the man back in, pushing him into a stall and fucking him over a toilet. But instead he takes a calming breath, flashes a tight, feral smile at the Priest and nods. They are not through, and the young man has to know it. Next time they are alone the man is as good as fucked.


End file.
